Crixus

 From the crush of bodies surged another young gladiator — Crixus, his fair hair matted with sweat and dust. His youth was clear in his face, but his body was already that of a hardened fighter: broad chest glistening in the torchlight, powerful arms laced with veins, and a stomach ridged into tight, deep-cut muscle. Strapped tight across his bare torso was a black leather chest harness, the straps pulled snug against his thick chest and ridged abs. It had once belonged to his older brother, a fellow gladiator who had fallen in the arena months before. Crixus wore it always, a reminder of blood and brotherhood, and swore he would honor his brother’s memory in battle.

The blond gladiator fought ferociously, sword flashing as he hacked his way through the press of Romans. His muscles rippled with every blow, the harness pulling taut as his torso twisted and stretched with each swing. He shouted with the reckless confidence of a youth who believed his strength could carry him through anything.

Crixus had just cut down two soldiers in quick succession, his blade dripping as he roared in triumph. But before he could press forward, another Roman — disarmed, desperate, and snarling — lunged at him from behind. One arm clamped tightly around the young gladiator’s throat, choking off his breath, while the other snaked around his sweaty, harness-bound torso, gripping the leather straps and the slick muscle beneath.

The blond gladiator staggered back under the sudden weight, his sword arm flailing as the Roman dragged him into a crushing hold. Crixus’ chest heaved against the tight leather, his muscles swelling and straining as he fought to break free.

“UUUUHHHHH!!!” he growled, twisting violently, the veins standing out across his arms and shoulders.

Crixus, knowing there was a stone wall behind him, dug his sandals into the earth and kicked back with all his strength. With a roar he hurled himself backward, slamming the Roman holding him hard into the wall. The soldier’s arms flailed loose from around his throat and torso, the death grip broken.

Shaking off the haze of strangulation, Crixus spun to face his assailant, the Roman still sprawled defenseless against the wall. With a snarl, the blond gladiator raised his beefy sword arm high above his head, ready to cleave the man down.

But before he could strike, another soldier closed in from behind. A hand shot around his side and seized his harness, gripping hard at the straps where they crossed just below his thick pectorals. With brutal force, the Roman yanked the harness and spun Crixus violently, slamming him back into the same jagged stone wall.

Crixus’ bare back crashed into the rock, his body arching sharply as pain lanced through him. His arms flung wide to either side, the black straps stretched tight across his chest as he was pinned there, helpless. His entire torso was sprawled against the stone, chest and abdomen thrust forward and perilously exposed. His belly panted below the straps, the ridges of his abs flexing and slacking with each labored breath, sweat running over the taut muscle. His eyes went wide in shock, blue flashing as the Roman’s fist cinched tighter in the leather across his chest.

The soldier quickly drew back his sword and rammed it into the gladiator's wide-open belly with a savage thrust—

ssssssSSST!!!

— the steel ripped into Crixus’ abdomen with a wet crack, carving deep through flesh and muscle.

“AAAAHHHH!!!” the young gladiator roared, the sound bursting raw from his chest as his body jolted against the wall.

The force of the thrust drove the steel through his thick torso, the tip of the blade bursting from his back and clanging against the stone wall behind him.

The Roman ripped his sword out of Crixus’ belly, blood spraying as the steel tore free. The young gladiator instinctively folded forward at the waist.

“Uhhhhh…” he groaned in agony.

But the soldier, still locked in with a death grip on the harness, shoved him back into the stone wall, pinning him fast.

With a snarl, the Roman drew his sword back. The blade hissed through the air and then rammed into Crixus’ belly just above the first wound—

ssssssSSST!!!

— the steel burst through his thick torso a second time and struck the stone wall behind him with a jarring clang.

“UUUUHHHHH!!!” Crixus cried, his mouth wide but his breath torn away as the blade punched through him again.

The Roman wrenched the weapon free in another violent pull, tearing it out of the gladiator’s body. He released the harness and stepped back, leaving Crixus slumping forward, both hands clutching desperately at the two deep wounds carved into his abdomen. Blood poured over his trembling fingers as his shivering, half-naked body sagged against the wall.

The soldier turned his head to the other Roman he had just saved from Crixus’ sword. The two men exchanged grim smiles and a nod. The unarmed soldier extended his arm, silently signaling for the sword. Without hesitation, the one who had already driven his sword into Crixus twice tossed him the blood-soaked blade.

Crixus still staggered on his feet, blood pouring from the two deep stab wounds in his belly, his body trembling as he tried to hold himself upright. Mortally wounded but not yet fallen, the young gladiator groaned in defiance, his hands slick with his own blood.

“UUUUHHHHH!!!” he growled, his voice broken.

The soldier who had been unarmed now advanced, eager for his own taste of gladiator blood. He reached around from Crixus’ side and seized the harness in the same cruel grip the other had used, his fist tightening around the black leather straps across the gladiator’s chest. With a violent yank, he spun Crixus around to face him. The force lifted the wounded gladiator’s torso, his arms flailing wide once more, his body bared and helpless.

With a savage smile, the Roman pulled the sword back and rammed it forward in a vicious thrust—

ssssssSSST!!!

— the blade drove into Crixus’ upper abs, just beneath the sternum, slicing through flesh and muscle. The steel punched clean through his torso to the hilt, exploding out of his back in a spray of crimson.

“Uhhhhh…” Crixus groaned, ragged and broken, his massive body shuddering against the soldier’s grip.

Still gripping the harness with one hand, the soldier began to withdraw the weapon slowly, savoring the moment. He dragged the blade halfway out, then suddenly and viciously rammed it back in, to the hilt—

ssssssSSST!!!

“UUUUHHHHH!!!” Crixus let out a gurgling groan, his massive frame shuddering in the Roman’s grasp.

The soldier held him steady with his fist still clenched around the leather straps and then tore the sword free of the gladiator’s belly, a plume of blood following the steel. With a final shove, he hurled the big gladiator backward.

Crixus crashed onto the ground, falling flat on his back, his hips arching into the air as he writhed in torment. His hands clutched desperately at the stab wounds in his belly, the ragged slits opening wider, blood flowing freely as his massive body twisted and trembled in the dirt. His abdomen heaved with shallow, ragged breaths, the ridges of his abs flexing and loosening uncontrollably beneath his blood-slicked hands. For a moment, his belly rose and fell in frantic spasms — then at last it slackened, the gladiator’s body falling still.

The Romans spared him no further thought. With grim efficiency they turned and vanished back into the melee, blades already seeking new prey. Around them the greater battle raged on, the death of the mighty gladiator swallowed whole by the chaos. Moments before he had crushed a man against the stone wall with brute strength; now he lay slain at its base, the harness of his brother stretched across his lifeless chest. Worn in memory, it had bound him to his death — the same fate it had claimed once before.